


this angel can break shotguns

by RAINMAK3R



Category: Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hades - Freeform, Happy Ending, Mild Hurt/Comfort, a touch of angst, steve has baby blues that are stuck with diana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 01:26:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11681130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RAINMAK3R/pseuds/RAINMAK3R
Summary: Diana doesn't get enough time with Steve, the first time around. Perhaps things with be different – second time's the charm, after all.





	this angel can break shotguns

Diana was still so new to this world, so when Steve made the decision to board the plane and then burst into millions of pieces, she felt like she had lost a part of herself.

She had allowed herself to hope, and believed in him even after she thought he had betrayed her. She had let herself have a moment with him, to dance and pretend that just maybe, they were regular people who were enjoying a winter's night, with no need to worry about anything but the temperature getting too cold.

But such a falsity was to tear her apart. Diana invested herself too quickly, and was burned in the end. Steve, gone too soon, would haunt her, in her dreams, out of the corner of her eye when she swore she saw movement, in the walk of a passerby on the street.

Diana may be Wonder Woman, but after the loss of her Steve, she wondered how anyone could survive through such hardship.

* * *

Some hundred years later, Diana finds herself working in the Louvre, when Bruce sends her the photo. She stares at it in disbelief, having thought it long lost to the war and the time that followed.

Her knees give way, and she sits with a heavy thud in her chair, one hand bracing her head, the other clutching the glass of the photograph tightly, leaning on her desk. Diana feels her face contort as she tries to will her tears away. The line of her mouth quivers, and she's sucked back into her childhood, growing up on Themyscira, finding Steve, fighting in the war, and watching Steve die before killing Ares.

Once the memories have passed her by, Diana feels exhausted, and cannot bring herself to send Bruce anything more than a sentence-long email, so at the end of her workday, she packs the picture back up into the suitcase to bring home with her.

* * *

The apartment is spacious, but with the weight of her memories closing in on her, Diana feels as if she's once again trapped underneath metal that is twisting and trying to compress her into nothing.

She goes through the motions, because that's the only thing she finds herself able to do easily. Happiness is harder to hold onto, Diana now understands since she has grown older, because it takes a monumental amount of effort to keep it in place, and to make sure it stays put.

Oftentimes, Diana thinks that it's time to move on, to find someone new, or at least, to stop pretending like those distractingly lovely blue eyes will find their way back onto her doorstep.

But Steve was what she fought for, and what she is fighting for. His memory drives her, to protect mankind and prevent war from ravaging them.

Sometimes, Diana wishes for nothing but war so that way she has some distraction from Steve’s ghost. But other times, she wishes that he's back with her, cradled by her side, so they can share one more moment together.

Even though she tries to delude herself, Diana is still very much in love with him. And after all, saying goodbye is something people take for granted, and something she will never truly have from Steve.

* * *

_“I wish we had more time.” His words are muted, and then become clearer. “I love you!”_

_Diana wants to pull at him, beg him to let her do it, because she will survive and he will not, she wants to catch his sleeve and kiss him again, she–_

She wakes up in a cold sweat, the sky pink and orange as the sun sets. Diana covers her eyes with her hand, and settles back into her couch. The old thing is navy blue, worn in places from its previous owner. No matter dreams or nightmares, Steve is always present, watching over or haunting her. When she closes her eyes, Steve’s flash through her mind, startlingly blue.

When she opens them, Diana wishes that he were really there.

* * *

She carries the watch with her everywhere. When she fights, Diana keeps it secured under her bracelet, where she can easily feel it ticking against her skin.

It would be infinitely better if it were Steve, his heart beating under a sun-warmed chest, wrapped in her arms, but it’s just his watch.

* * *

Steve never believed in an afterlife, Diana later learns. Though raised Catholic, he abandoned the notions of religion two years into the war.

Still, he called her angel. He believed in her, perhaps as a higher power, as a savior – personal or otherwise, and believed throughout it all that she could save the world.

(Which, admittedly, she had done, but not after Steve sacrificed himself and her newly found world had lost a bright light she knew it'd never regain.)

In her dreams, she can hear him whisper it, and in battle, Diana could swear that Steve follows her, and whispers it into her ear - she can feel the air brush against her ear. But in the end, it's only her imagination.

* * *

The pain never goes away, but it’s a complete surprise when he shows up in battle.

Diana’s been knocked unconscious, and suddenly, Steve is there, sliding a hand under her head and then to her shoulders, picking her up, his other arm bracketing her knees.

“...Steve?” She murmurs. Diana’s head hurts, and the sun behind Steve’s head makes him look like an angel. Her angel.

“Easy, angel – you took a hard hit.” He tells her, his thumb smoothing her shoulder.

“Nothing compared to you,” Diana says, her vision spotty, “and besides, when I wake again–” tears burn behind her eyes, and her nose twinges– “you'll be gone again.”

“I'm going to be right by your side, Diana. I always have been.”

“My Steve,” Diana says as she reaches up and caresses his cheek, “you've been gone for a hundred years.”

“I'm sorry about that. I would've come back sooner, if I could've.”

“Could've?” She inquires, but her head is hurting too much, and everything turns black.

* * *

When she wakes again, her head isn't pounding as intensely, and she is wrapped up in blankets. As she opens her eyes, Diana realizes she's in her apartment, and there's the smell of coffee wafting in from her kitchen.

She's convinced she's dreaming, because not a moment later, Steve is pushing the bedroom door open with a socked foot, a cup of coffee in each hand, which he then sets down on her nightstand. He leans down over her and kisses her forehead. Diana's throat feels tight.

“My Steve, you are a wonderful dream.” She tells him, offering up a sad smile. “But it would be so much easier if you would let me mourn without being in my dreams.”

“Diana,” he begins, “I’m real, and this isn't a dream.”

“Steve, please,” she untucks her hand and clasps his, which is warm, and she can feel his pulse against her fingers, “don't make me wake up to heartbreak again.”

“Where's your lasso?” Without waiting for an answer, Steve begins rummaging through her closet, and pulls it out, wrapping it around his wrist.

“Diana, I swear to you, I am real. This isn't a dream. I'm never leaving you again.” His eyes bore into her, a brighter blue than they've ever been. She starts crying – her breath hiccups and then Steve drops the lasso as he launches himself at her bed, and envelops her in his arms, while Diana clutches on for dear life.

“I promise you, Diana, I'm not going to leave your side again.” All she can do is clutch at his shirt sleeves tighter, pull him in closer, and breathe him in.

They have another moment, she realizes. Maybe they'll be lucky enough to have more than one.

* * *

“What did you mean by ‘could've’?” Diana asks him later that morning, after they had laid curled in Diana’s bed for hours, as she reassured herself this wasn't a dream, that her Steve had finally returned to her.

“When I rescued you?” Steve readjusts his position on the blue couch, and laces their fingers together. “I tried to come back to you as soon as I could – because as much as I knew that you needed me to do what I did, I never wanted to leave you – and so I struck a deal with Hades to–”

“ _Hades_?” Diana exclaims, but Steve doesn't let her finish.

“–to do one hundred years worth of work for him, and then, when I completed it, I would be free to go to you, and live out the rest of our lives together, for as long as that may be. I accepted those terms without a second thought. Whatever I could do to get back to you.”

“Do you know how reckless that was?” She chastises him. “What if Hades reneged on his deal, and you–” Diana cuts herself off, and separates their hands, moving to the other end of the couch. She takes a deep breath and looks at Steve.

“Diana, Hades is more trustworthy than he lets on. It's not every day, after all, that someone rejects going to Elysium and offers to help the god of the underworld, and do his bidding for a century. He treated me well, even after everything I had to do,” Steve’s voice becomes thick, “he still found me worthy of redemption.”

“What did he make you do?” Diana opens her arms, and Steve pushes himself into her embrace, and settles his head on her chest.

“I'm afraid you'd hate me.” He says simply.

“I could never.” Diana returns.

“I tortured _souls_ , Diana, those who were beyond salvation and those who had made petty mistakes in life and I caused them such pain.” His breath is hot against her breastbone; Diana tucks his head under her chin and smooths his hair out with her hand.

“Are the methods unorthodox? Perhaps. But, Steve, I still love you. Nothing would ever make me love you less. We have disagreed on subjects in the past, and even if you have done reprehensible actions–”

“–I have,” he interjects quickly.

“–that does not mean you cannot earn redemption, or that I will not stand by you while you make things right.”

“Diana,” he sighs, “I found you after a century of doing Hades’ bidding, but… what if I don't deserve you? What if I’m not worth all your trouble.”

“It's not about deserve,” Diana gently reminds him, “and if you are not worth my trouble or time, would Hades have let you leave if he himself did not find you worthy of returning to me?”

“I suppose not.” Steve lifts his head to cautiously peer at her. “I love you.”

Diana allows herself a fraction of a moment, to worry if everything will all go slipping away now that Steve has again professed his love, that something will tear them apart for another hundred years, but instead, there is the quiet chirping of birds outside her window, the sun streaming through the blinds, and Steve safely wrapped in her embrace. They have time, she realizes with something akin to smug satisfaction.

Not even a second has passed before she responds.

“I love you. With all I have to give.”

Steve kisses her then, and his hands hold her face as his nose presses into her cheek.

“You aren't going to get rid of me so easily this time, Diana.”

“I wouldn't want to have it any other way. You belong by my side, Steve.” His returning smile is shy, and he ducks his head away from her, but she simply kisses the crown of his head.

* * *

They stand on Diana’s small balcony, an old blanket covering both their shoulders. The sights and sounds of Paris allow themselves to be beheld for her and Steve to enjoy.

The air around them is crisp, and Diana knows that Steve will find his peace as the wind whips around them, and the promise of a future together rings out beyond the skyline. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm playing it fast and loose with Greek mythology – I only know one "funny" story about Zeus cooking a kid in his thigh until the kid was ready to be born... Anyways, it feels like it's been a year since I last posted (even thought I posted a quick fic four months ago) and I can't guarantee anything but that the work I do isn't always published.


End file.
